


who could ever leave me darling (but who could stay)

by EllieCarina



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Real World, Ben Solo is an arrogant asshole, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, Lawyers, Modern Era, Rey Nobody, Rey wants to change the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCarina/pseuds/EllieCarina
Summary: “I don’t think pity is in my job description, Miss…?” He looks at her, taxing. (Of course he knows her name, he knows her firm too, even knows where and when she graduated - both because he did his homework and because she intrigues him a little bit - but he feels somewhat asshole-ish at the moment, so there it is.)“Humphrey,” she presses out of a clenched jaw. (Her friends call her Rey, he knows that, too, not that it matters.) “His pregnant wife died, the love of his life, you’d think that would make people cut him some slack...but you probably have never felt love in your entire miserable life so why do I even bother?”“Adorable,” he comments dryly, which only infuriates her more.“You’re literally the worst,” she says and sounds like a schoolgirl rather than a Harvard-trained attorney. “You’re like...the devil in an Armani suit.”****Reylo Lawyers AU. Think Harvey Specter, just crank the asshole-meter to 3000.





	1. you know that i caught it

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something I've been intrigued to write, I am now planning on making it quick and dirty...but who knows what will happen? For now, just enjoy some asshole Ben and a frustrated Rey.
> 
> \--
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all faults are my own.  
Please feel free to drop me a line or two in the end if you liked it :)

“Objection, your honor, badgering,” it resounds through court hall seven, the plaintiff’s young lawyer has half risen up from her chair, cheeks reddened in aggravation.

Ben stops talking, but not before the judge sustains the objection. She was bound to, because of course he’s been badgering. It is his speciality, after all. Not badgering, per se, but cross examination, interrogation almost. That’s what he loves, that’s where he gets his results. It’s how he’s already swaying the judges right now, he can feel it in the static of the room, the stares from the juror’s benches, the breathlessness that follows every one of his rapid fire questions.

He knows how to break people down, make them look weak and duplicitous, just as much as he can talk up his defendants and stylize them into hapless victims. That’s how he has won the majority of his cases, that’s why he’s booked solid and has been for years. That is how he became a partner at First Order Law despite only being thirty-one. He’s a fucking genius when it comes to these things, and that’s not to brag.

God knows he is lacking in other departments...mostly of the refined social sort but that’s never bothered him. He doesn’t need a host of friends reassuring him of a gentle heart and sweet disposition. He’s self-reflected enough to know he possesses neither, but the thing is...he doesn’t care. He is completely fine on his own. It’s much less work...and if no one gets close to you, no one can hurt you. In his job, more than most, one needs to be impenetrable, never be vulnerable, not offer up any weaknesses - and that’s way easier if you simply do not allow for weaknesses to exist.

He gets along with it, in the courtroom, faced with an insecure, mousy-brown headed, pudgy little man who is suing his client, a multimillion-dollar corporation, for wrongful termination. The poor sod doesn’t stand a chance and everyone knows it. Most of all his lawyer, who is scrambling more every minute. He’s got her dead to rights and she is well aware. Briefly, Ben wonders why anyone would put a rookie lawyer like her on that case in the first place - but then again, it only serves him, so he doesn’t question it any further.

“Put yourself in the shoes of your employer, given your testimony just now,” Ben continues leisurely, turning back to the sweaty plaintiff, squirming on the stand. “You admit to being anxious and prone to nervous behavior, tearing up at the office...not only that, but I think we can all see that you’re ill-equipped to handle any sort of pressure, the thought alone that you would put yourself through a trial like this is mind-boggling! Look at you, we can all see you’re a wreck-”

“Objection, he’s testifying!” The other lawyer is on her feet again, glaring at him angrily. He doesn’t even have to see it, he can _feel_ it just fine. 

“Sustained,” the judge says. Ben just smiles and takes it.

“Fine, Mister Wexley, so taking only your own admissions of your appearance in the last few months leading up to your determination from my client’s firm, would you think, from your employers point of view, that you would be a fit candidate to sustain a position in such a high stakes job, dealing with this sort of immense pressure on a day to day basis?”

The plaintiff remains mum, which is answer enough. Ben continues nonetheless. “Mister Wexley, must I remind you that you have to answer me unless you are going to incriminate yourself to an accusation or charge of crime in doing so?" He pauses just long enough to see the sweat bead on the poor guy's brow. "So I am asking you again. After all we heard, thinking as an employer...after having had a very public breakdown at the office just weeks before you were let go, would you have thought of yourself as a suitable person for the position you had? Mister Wexley?”

“No,” Wexley almost whispers and drops his head. He knows he’s done.

“No further questions, your honor,” Ben nods towards the judge and takes his seat. 

The whole thing is over by lunch-time. Lunch, mainly, is where his mind is at after, when he exits the courtroom after having sent his satisfied clients on their merry way. His thoughts revolve not at all around the lawyer of the plaintiff, who he hears more than he sees her as high heels click aggressively on the hardwood floors of the courtroom, coming for him.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she says, in time with him turning around to see what’s going on. She glares up at him - the nice thing about standing at almost two metres is that you mostly look down on people and she is no different. 

“Matter of fact, I am,” he shrugs, “Although this was hardly a tough win. I wonder why you even insisted to go to trial with this...it was an open and shut case...but then again for someone with barely half a year on the job, it’s hardly surprising.”

“You didn’t have to tear him apart like this,” she near-well pouts, it would be cute if it wasn’t so misguided. “He’s had it hard enough.”

“I don’t think pity is in my job description, Miss…?” He looks at her, taxing. (Of course he knows her name, he knows her firm too, even knows where and when she graduated - both because he did his homework and because she intrigues him a little bit - but he feels somewhat asshole-ish at the moment, so there it is.)

“Humphrey,” she presses out of a clenched jaw. (Her friends call her Rey, he knows that, too, not that it matters.) “His pregnant wife died, the love of his life, you’d think that would make people cut him some slack...but you probably have never felt love in your entire miserable life so why do I even bother?”

“Adorable,” he comments dryly, which only infuriates her more.

“You’re literally the worst,” she says and sounds like a schoolgirl rather than a Harvard-trained attorney. “You’re like...the devil in an Armani suit.”

“And you’re blind to what it is we’re doing here,” he tells her, still unfazed. “The law isn’t about being good or bad, the law is about the law. And if you can’t handle it, you’re in the wrong profession. Go build wells in Fuck-all-nowhere if you want to _ help _ people. Otherwise learn to cut your losses, _ Elle Woods_.”

The lawyer, Rey, huffs out a frustrated breath and then glares at him one last time, spitting out her next sentence: “Well, I hope you can sleep well at night with all that vitriol.“

“I don’t get that much sleep,” he says and gives her a look that should tell her what else he spends his nights doing. 

She pulls a disgusted face but obviously doesn’t wish to dignify that with a response, so finally she turns and leaves. He watches her all the way down the corridor. She’s really _ is _misguided but she’s gutsy...and he can’t say he isn’t impressed.

Her pouty, angry face is still ghosting around in his brain about a week later, when he’s downing his second whiskey of the night, sitting at the bar after another slam dunk victory at court. For a second, he thinks that he is imagining her walking in the door of the downtown lawyer joint. But sure enough, as soon as their eyes meet, he knows it’s really her. He can tell by the way her mouth turns into a thin, misgiving line and she turns and whispers something - likely unfavorable about him - to the group of people she came with.

Amused, he tips his glass to her in a silent salute to which she rolls her eyes, making her whole gang turn and head towards a table in the corner. Ben can’t help but smirk. Her dislike of him is delicious, making him feel like a kid on the schoolyard yearning for some pigtails to pull. That’s why he keeps his radar on, keeps tabs on her comings and goings from the table. So he’s prepared once she finally makes her way to the bar, later in the night when it’s become crowded and the service slow. She tries to avoid him, but he deserts his chair in favour of walking up to her.

“If it isn’t _ Mother Teresa_,” he says, pushing into the gap between her and some old dude.

“_You_,” she says as she turns to face him “Drinking away your shame, huh?” Her glare is meant to be devastating but all it does is make him giddy to fight. “Judging from your breath it’s been quite a lot. Ruined more lives than usual today?”

“Just the regular amount,” he says and studies her tight features as she pretends to ignore him as she orders a round of bottled beers for her table.

“Stop staring at me or I’ll sue you for sexual harassment,” she bites after a while of waiting.

“By your record, you’d get nowhere with it,” Ben deadpans, but casts his eyes away from her and inches away from her, too. Just to be safe. He’s very opposed to coming off like a perv, that doesn’t suit him at all. 

“And you? Got someone justice today, _ Brockovich_?” He asks, looking at the bartender grab four bottles from the fridge at the back of the bar.

“Matter of fact, I did,” she says and then pays for the beers. “Now please stop talking to me.”

She underlines this with another furious look up at him but even in the dim pub light, Ben can see that her cheeks and ears are flushed. She’s attracted to him, he knows it. He’s good with letting her come to terms with that on her own though, so he steps aside and lets her pass. And he would have left her alone as well, but then she makes a little squeaky sound as one of the bottles slips from her hands. He can’t help his reflexes in catching it, wrapping his hand around hers and gripping her hand and the bottleneck hard. 

That’s when he hears it, a tiny gasp, followed by a little shudder he can feel because he’s now pressed against her side. Their eyes meet, she looks terrified. She looks found out. She looks _ breathless. _ He loves it.

“I _ did _ catch that, in case you were wondering,” he snickers, bending down to her, getting close, a little testy, but he can’t help himself. “Better watch yourself, Miss Humphrey, or you’re gonna make me think you have a thing for devils in Armani suits.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she bites out and then shakes him off. 

She doesn’t turn around as she’s walking back to her lawyer friends but she doesn’t have to. He knows exactly what she’s doing. She’ll be biting her lips, cursing herself for that lapse in self-control and then proceed to speak a little mantra to herself until she believes it. “I’m not into that asshole,” or something on the lines of that. _ It won’t work. _

Ben downs his last drink and goes home, not sparing her another glance. He has always known when to bag a win.

Still, the next morning in the office, he puts his assistant on the task of finding out what case Kira Humphrey is working on through the secretary-grapevine. Once he knows, he makes exactly one phone call in which he tells the accused in that very lawsuit that he’s got a new lawyer now and then proceeds to have his associate draw up a bunch of subpoenas and sends them to Humphrey’s firm. No later than four in the afternoon, he gets a phone call from a Brooklyn area code.

“Mister Solo,” a prickly voice says. It’s _ her. _ “Why are you doing this?”

“No reason,” he grins, leaning back in his leather chair comfortably, he can just picture her all worked up in her cubicle probably, straining to pace around or kick something. “Only...I think you’ll be fun to beat again. And, who knows, maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

“Well, maybe...maybe-,” she sounds agitated, frustrated, grappling for a clever comeback. (Ben loves it so much he almost gets a semi.)

“Ah, you’re gonna have to do better than that in court, _ Jeanne D’Arc_,” he snickers. “I think I’ll really enjoy getting you on your back and wiping the floor with you again.”

“Maybe I’ll get you on _ your _ back,” she snaps.

“Oh, I’m very much counting on that, Rey,” he says, his voice dropping down to a husky growl.

There’s silence on the other end, then a bothered little grunt of frustration, then a click and the line is dead.

_ This is going to be fun_, he thinks, his body tingling in anticipation all over. _ This is going to be so much fucking fun. _


	2. devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) Finally managed to crank out another chapter...no beta, so have all my mistakes along with the update on the house <3
> 
> I have no idea if I managed to understand the legal stuff I rush-researched for this, if I'm completely off base, let's just all pretend I got it right, yes? Please? Thank you :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this update and I'll love you forever if you drop me a little line or two of feedback :) or just like...you know, a wave-emoji to say that anyone even sees this ;)
> 
> Thank you so much and have an epic week!!

The first three stages of a lawsuit - if it goes all the way to trial, which Ben is pretty much gunning for - using the example of his current situation, is as as follows: 

1\. The Complaint

The Plaintiff, Maz Kanata, an ancient crone who has managed a nightclub and bar in the West Village since - you’d think - the prohibition, is suing the Hutt company for Intentional Interference with Prospective Economic Advantage. Why? Because they bought up the surrounding High Rises next to the dingy old 60s relic her club (The “Cantina”) is housed in and are now - allegedly - trying to sabotage her person and business to get her out of the property in order to swallow it up and have a perfect block of prime real estate space.

2\. The Response

Is the Hutt company guilty as charged? Of course it is. Ben knows it, Jeb Jr. Hutt, the CEO, knows it, and Humphrey and her client know it, too. Do they concede to the allegations in the complaint put forth by Mrs. Kanata? Absolutely not. Why would they? Even if it’s obvious what they’re doing, there’s simply no hard evidence to support the claim. Or at least so they think. That’s the point where Ben came in, after their complete denial of Mrs. Kanata’s allegations. All he had to say was that if he could see from a mile away that they were guilty, they would need a little more stealth behind them than their current clown firm offered, and then there he was - the shiny new legal representation of Hutt Unlimited. Sadly, not him alone, though.

His associate Doph Mitaka and, to Ben’s great chagrin, junior partner Armitage Hux, were also put on the case. The latter had been mandated by his boss, managing partner and founder of the firm, Mister Snoke. It had been a slap on Ben’s wrist for going out on his own and getting himself a client that the old man found lacking in size and renown next to their usual portfolio. Then again, Ben thinks he might have gotten off easy with just Hux to content with. If his boss had found out that he stole that case for himself just to mess with another attorney that intrigued him, he might have suffered much worse consequences. 

3\. Discovery

During discovery, the last step before court, the attorneys gather as much evidence as possible about the situation. This phase of litigation serves the following purposes: preserve evidence of witnesses who may not be available at trial, reveal facts and to aid in formulating the issues to be litigated. Since taking the case Ben had subpoenaed just about every record Maz Kanata had ever kept and in turn had served her attorney Kira Humphrey with so much useless paper it would take years to go through everything thoroughly. There’s a couple of potentially dangerous documents in there but Ben took great care to bury them so deep, that he doubts Rey will ever even find them. And if she does, he’s prepared anyway. 

He’s also prepared for his favourite part of discovery: depositions. It’s his complete element. In any deposition, he’s the ringleader of a circus of his own design. A deposition is a sworn pretrial testimony taken out of court, orally and on the recorded which is later reduced to writing by a stenographer for use in the trial. It’s a pre-run, an interrogation. He loves it. And the day he knows he’ll have Maz Kanata and her attorney in his office, he’s just about walking on air. If he’s honest, it’s not so much the deposition he knows is coming, it’s more the opposing counsel who’ll be in the room with him when it happens that has him excited - but he doesn’t examine that fact any further.

Instead, he just casually walks by the elevators every couple of minutes before the allotted time to happen upon her casually strudding, confident on his turf and ready to throw down. And when the elevator ‘bing’ announces her arrival, it couldn’t have been at a better moment. He’s just walking by, a hand in his hair, pushing an unruly strand out of his face, mussing up his locks, making him look all rugged and handsome (of course he can’t see himself, he just knows it) when she appears in the lobby, her white-haired client following suit. Rey stops in her tracks and stares at him, disdain on her face and something else that makes him grin. He walks straight to her and inclines his head.

“Miss Humphrey,” he says, “You’re early.”

“Just in time to kick your ass,” she mutters under her breath.

“Careful there,” he says, just as quietly. “You might get held in contempt.”

“We’re not in court yet, counsel,” she says, glaring up at him - but there’s a glint in her eye, a wicked little spark that tells him she’s enjoying this, too.

Ben leads them to the conference room and the game begins. He’s confident, bordering on cocky in the deposition of Mrs. Kanata but Humphrey is keeping up with him. It’s good to see how she works, when she actually _ has _ a case. She’s feisty and quick and there’s a vicious back and forth and everything could be wonderful if it wasn’t for Hux sitting in, stirring shit up. One time, the ginger bastard gets so triggered by the other lawyers confidence and wit, he nearly gives away their entire game just to one up her. It’s a stupid, rookie mistake, meaning he damn near admits to knowledge of some barely legal underhand arrangement their clients had made with contractors in order to “improve” the sewage pipes underneath the buildings, the ones that are precariously close to the Cantinas basement. (The ones that if they were to, say...burst...would not do much damage to their clients buildings but would flood Kanata’s bar with feces in hours flat.) Only a well placed heel on Hux’ foot stops Humphrey from getting the case served to her on a silver platter by opposing counsel.

Crisis averted though, Ben is actually quite pleased with her ability to make Hux’s face change from its usual unhealthy mayonnaise colour to a deep purple. She gets under his skin, which in turn gives Ben the perfect excuse to put him in his place after the deposition. Ben thinks the guy almost pops a vein trying to not make a scene over being berated - but Ben is so justified, Hux has no choice but to take it like a dog that tore up the couch. His stupid, fuming expression frankly makes Ben’s day and he savours the memory of it all the way home. It carries him through a complete scrub of his bathroom, a microwave dinner and about half a bottle of Chardonnay.

The idea to go to the Cantina bar is a spur of the moment thing that happens after he's done a fair amount of gloating, born from the second half of that bottle of wine in his system. He’d been standing out on his roof terrace, staring into the streets below, wondering about Rey. He knew she would very likely be there because he’d seen it in her Instagram story (which he obviously watched through a throwaway account, for research purposes only). Not that her being there had anything at all to do with him taking a taxi downtown to check it out. It just seemed like a good idea...from a completely professional point of view. 

Which is what he tells her when she comes to confront him, mere moments after he’s set foot in the joint and she spots him from her seat at the bar.

“What are you doing here?” She doesn’t even bother with pleasantries. 

“Discovery,” he answers merely.

“You’ve not made a request for an inspection, so whatever it is you’re looking for, it won’t hold up in court,” she says. She’s right of course.

“Maybe I’m merely discovering this place like a patron? Say I wandered in here of the street, a regular Joe looking for a place to wet his whistle,” he shrugs and takes a step towards her to make room for a group of guys entering the club behind him. She notices him getting closer and takes a step back. “How about you give me a little tour?”

“You know what?” Rey says, locking her arms in front of her. “Let’s make a deal...if I show you around right now and you find nothing, you don’t request another inspection.”

“And when I do find something?” He asks, looking down at her, marvelling just a little bit at how the dim warm light of the place catches the golden flakes in her irises. 

“_ If _you find anything, you can request an inspection,” she shrugs.

“Which would give you enough time to get rid of whatever incriminating thing I might have seen,” he says.

“Take it or leave it,” she replies easily. “You know as well as I do that the fact that you’re showing up here unannounced to_ investigate _ or whatever it is you’re trying to do, gives the court enough grounds to hold you in contempt.” She pauses and gives him a calculating once-over. “Alternatively I could just call the police and have you escorted from the premises. I’d think you’d look pretty natural in handcuffs.”

“Darling, if you want to see me in handcuffs, all you have to do is ask,” he murmurs, taking another step towards her. This time no one is behind him and she sees it. She doesn’t budge this time though, instead she puffs out her chest confrontationally and remains unmoving.

“Call me ‘darling’ one more time, I’d really like that,” she says, testily. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“Fine,” he says, enjoying himself tremendously. “Show me around.”

She moves about like she owns the place, showing him the bar, the main floor that is slowly filling up with people, the toilets and then the back rooms for the employees. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. Until they enter the very last room, the one that has a door leading out into the back alley. There, right in the middle, is a poker table, fully set up, with chips and all, like it’s just waiting for players. Ben laughs when he sees it and the other attorney closes the door behind her.

“So this is the room where the illegal gambling happens, huh?” He wonders aloud, stalking around the poker table, picking up a set of chips and letting it fall back into place slowly.

“It’s for the staff,” she says, unirked and without a hint of nerves. “After closing time, they sometimes play for their tips. It’s harmless.”

“Of course,” Ben nods. “And I’m sure there’ll be no whiff of _ this _ when I request to see it formerly.”

“Probably,” she agrees. “But you wouldn’t have made this deal if you’d have thought you’d find anything even remotely like this, would you? Because you know that it’s all bullshit. It’s a mud-campaign against Mrs. Kanata and this club. She’s hadn’t had so much as a disturbance of peace by night in the last five years.”

“Yeah,” he says, which is the first thing that actually shuts her up for a second.

“So you actually admit that you know it’s a bullshit defense your client has?” She asks incredulously after she’s recovered.

“My clients defense is me, so I’d say it’s pretty brilliant,” he says. “And as far as admitting _ anything _ else goes...I decline to answer.”

“Oh, what a lawyer you are,” she huffs. “I can’t fathom how you can live with yourself, if you know you’re defending the wrong people.”

“And I think your idealism is adorable but the world doesn’t work like that,” he says and sits down on the poker table. “You’re all black and white but there’s only grey, that’s where we operate in.”

“No we don’t,” she says. “_ I _don’t.”

“So how does that feel, huh?” He challenges - and abandons the table again. He walks towards where she stands by the door, her hand on the handle. “Nice and safe?” He’s reached her and gets closer yet, daringly. “You’re such a good girl, always doing the right thing. Losing to people who know how to bend the rules just the right amount. Don’t tell me you’re not bored out of your mind.” She must feel his breath on her forehead, he is that close.

It makes him a bit dizzy, if he’s honest. It’s a thrill to get into her space like that, to watch her battle it out with herself if she wants to retreat and step away from him or stay there and watch what happens. He won’t close in another inch, he’s fully leaving her the room to retreat if she’s uncomfortable with his advance. She could, there’s enough room to her left and right to just step away from him, yet she stays where she is. He expected that of course, because try as she might, he can see that she’s curious about him. But - going from her tight expression - she is still not sure what to do about it.

“You’re not gonna bait me into sleeping with you,” she says bluntly and it’s so surprising that she just said that without using innuendos or euphemisms that he has to grin. She’s quick and she’s unafraid to call people out on their bullshit - but he knew that. 

“Are you telling _ me _ that or are you telling yourself that,” he asks and dares some more - namely by lifting his hand up to her shoulder and letting his fingers dance for just a second along her collar bone. She shivers, goosebumps appearing on her neck like a shot as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“You think you’re so original with that bad boy act,” she breathes in deeply once more and then opens her eyes to him, gifting him with a vicious glare that makes his skin prickle. “But you’re just a frightened little kid in a mask.”

And - okay, he said he wouldn’t do anything more but he’s never done well with taunting, which is what she just did, so he’s only partially to blame for moving his hand to her arm and giving her a little push that ends up with her flush against the door and him towering over her, boxing her in.

“I’m not frightened,” he says.

“Oh, I really do think you are,” she disagrees, no sign of trepidation on her face, just triumph. “What were you gonna do, huh? Spank me for being rude?”

“If you ask nicely,” he says, recovering quickly, mostly because he momentarily feels bad about cornering her like that. But then again she doesn’t seem to be afraid, if anything, and going from the word ‘spanking’ actually leaving her mouth, she seems to rather like his visceral reaction to her taunt. 

“Go fuck yourself,” she tells him and he snaps his head down to come to rest beside hers, touching his lips to her ear. He breathes in her scent, indulging in her proximity for just a moment before he answers. Rey freezes. 

“How about I fuck you instead?” He tops this off with a quick but hard bite on her earlobe and her instant response is to grab the front of his shirt and push him away from her. He doesn’t fight it, he just lifts up both his hands, as if she were to make a civilian arrest any second now and shrugs at her.

Eyes wild and chest heaving, she squares her jaw. Her pupils look dark red in this light, irises blown out black. This could go two ways now. She could either scream at him, threaten to sue and lock him in that back room until the end of the night - or have her way with him right there on the floor. Two, three breathless seconds pass. 

Then Rey charges at him and catches him with a hard kiss, clawing at his shirt like a rabid animal. Ben momentarily leaves his body, only to crash back into it as soon she rolls her hips against his. That’s when he gasps into her mouth and pulls her in tighter. He’d hoped she would do this but now that she has, he’s overwhelmed. Plus she feels so good, he half goes out of his mind just from that kiss alone. He might be in a little bit over his head, he thinks, but then all though goes out of the window when she shoves him hard against the poker table, knocking over all the chips, and puts her hand on the bulge of his dress pants. Rather pathetically, he whimpers right into her mouth when she does that. Which is precisely the moment she stops, takes a step back from him and walks toward the back door. Her face is blazing and he feels like she’d just doused him with ice water (not that his dick got that memo - he’s rock hard, standing alert for some hot back room action that he’s apparently not getting).

“Piss off, sucker,” she says, with all the schadenfreude of a schoolyard bully that pulled a fast one on an unsuspecting victim. She opens the door wide and nods to the alley outside. 

He moves as gracefully as he can manage with that unfortunate tent in his pants but he’ll be damned if he’ll let her see defeat. No, he walks, head high, right out of the door, past her snickering, beautiful face, right into the breezy New York night.

“You’re not as irresistible as you think, you know?” She calls after him. “If I were you, I’d try and come up with another strategy how to win this, because it sure as hell isn’t gonna be by fucking with me...in any way. Understood?”

“Duly noted, Miss Humphrey,” he says, holding her glare and he’s almost a little proud of her. Not that his pride isn’t wounded, but he can’t _ not _ respect that incredible power move she just made.

“Get bent, Solo,” she huffs and then all he sees of her is that old stony disdain etched on her features as she shuts the door in his face, leaving him out in the cold alone. 

Ben doesn’t quite process the way he makes it home, or brushes his teeth or get ready for bed - it’s all blurry background noise underneath a frame by frame analysis of what had transpired between him and the other lawyer at the bar. He’s in bed for a while (a vigorous jerking off session into a cleansing wipe already behind him) when his mind finally quiets down enough to be able to fall asleep.

Come morning, the first thing he knows upon waking is that he should never have gone to bed at all. Because it’s terrible what happened. He sits up straight, his alarm still beeping in a frantic pace, matching his heart beat. He’d just had a dream. A gruesome, horrible, horrifying dream that he needs to forget immediately. If he can’t, it’ll ruin him. It might actually kill him. Or worse, it could make him lose his case. 

He blinks rapidly, trying to shoo away the ghost of the dream that still has him in its clutches. But, oh, it lingers, _ fuck_, how it lingers. The warmth, the fuzzy comfort, the _ aching_, positively saccharine emotion that holds his chest in a tight clasp, pushing and squeezing and making it hard to breathe. It’s an age old panic that rises like bile in his throat. Something that he thought he’d extinguished in himself ages ago. She’d turned over in his arms just a second ago - when he’d been dreaming of her. Her green eyes sparkling, her fingers playing leisurely with his. They’d been fully clothed. It had been a sexless dream. Not a wet dream, but a _ warm _ dream, which was exponentially worse. And he’d felt...he’d felt. He still does. He feels. 

“_ No_,” he says out loud, to himself. “Don’t you dare you fucking idiot, I’m fucking warning you.” His heart beats harder in his chest, as if to spite him. “I swear to God, you fucking moron brain, you stop this _ right now_!”

But as resolutely as he reprimands herself, as sneakily does his traitor brain feed him flashes of the dream in that moment, and then, helpfully, also supplies some fleshy memories of the kiss from the night before. And what had seemed base and animalistic then, now gets this weird glowy tint and he remembers…how soft her lips were, how good she smelled, how nice it was to hold her. And to be held by her. And to argue with her and to bicker and match wits. And just...to be near her. Rey, he thinks then, like an idiot, because that’s the _whole extent of the_ _thought_. Rey, Rey, Rey, Rey, _Rey._

Which is the exact moment he decides that it’s time to run his head against the wall until he forgets his own name. He almost laughs at his own stupidity. He’s really done it now, he’d gone and played himself. 

_ You just fell in _ love _ like a little bitch. You epic, _ epic _ loser_, his brain supplies helpfully as he plops back down on his bed and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he mutters. Seems like he's gotten a shitload more than he ever bargained for. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So...am I the only one or is asshole-lawyer-Ben one of the most infuriatingly sexy versions of him ever? No? just me...ah well, I'll take it. :D 
> 
> Can't wait to hear your thoughts!


End file.
